“Look--look!” he shuddered, pointing to it. “Gipsy Darke has been murdered, and there is the weapon!” It was Warren Beihl who spoke. He glanced up, and met the bewildered gaze of Lelia Ritchie just entering the room. She was draped in a loose blue morning robe; her golden hair was in graceful disarray about her shoulders, her lovely face was pale and startled. She cried in wonder, with a shaking voice: “What is the matter? What were those cries that frightened me from sleep? What are you all doing here?” A nervous young girl clutched her arm and pointed to the blood-stained curtains. “Look at the blood! Something awful has happened! They are saying that Gipsy Darke is murdered!” she sobbed hysterically. Lelia uttered a dramatic shriek of protest. “No, no, it cannot be true! Where is the girl?” “Nowhere!” answered some one else, and then Lelia saw her aunt fainting in Mrs. Goodwill’s arms. “Take her out of this dreadful room. It is too much for her nerves,” she exclaimed, and she followed the old lady from the room; but every one else remained, as if fascinated by the dreadful sight; and presently the men made a startling discovery. The murdered girl must surely have been hurled out of the window. In no other way could they account for her absence save by the blood-stains on the curtains and the window-sill. Looking over, they could see the dark-crimson stains outside, and the grass was crushed below, as if by a heavy body--the grass and the sweet white roses whose fragrance Gipsy had loved to inhale each morning. The men became eagerly excited. They sent for blood-hounds to follow the trail of the murderer and the missing body of the poor murdered girl. Full of horror and pity and grief, they could talk of nothing else, they could scarcely swallow a mouthful of the late breakfast when they met together around the bounteous table, when they had severally finished their hasty toilets. Miss Willoughby did not appear. The doctor was with her, and she was passing from one long swoon to another. The shock had almost bereft her of life. Lelia, very pale and nervous, did the honors in her aunt’s place, and took part in the excited conversation, shaking her head as one and another theory was propounded, and saying at last: “You all seem very stupid to me, not to guess at the most plausible reason for the murder. That is, if a murder has been committed, of which we cannot be sure, as no body has been found.” They all clamored for her reasons, and she said instantly: “You all seem to have forgotten that the burglars who tried to murder me and steal my diamonds escaped from prison last week. Of course, you may suppose they were very angry with Gipsy Darke for betraying them and frustrating their bold plan of robbery. What more plausible or natural than that they should take such a revenge for her interference? It rushed over me the moment I saw what had happened.”